


Prompt challenge May 2015

by Kikimay



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, LiveJournal Prompt, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4010593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikimay/pseuds/Kikimay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1. Spike/Dru, Italy 1959          </p><p>2. Drusilla/shanshued!Angel</p><p>3. Willow/Kennedy, break-up</p><p>4. Angel/Spike/Buffy, post NFA</p><p>5. Natasha MCU, <i>Out the back door goddamn but I love her anyway</i></p><p>6. Illyria/Lady!Loki</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ciao, ciao, bambina (I’m losing you) - Spike/Dru

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Here's a collection of the stories wrote for my very first prompt challenge. The main fandom appears to be BtVS/AtS, but there will be also something from Avengers MCU and hopefully True Detective. I'll update the tags as soon as the stories are all posted. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the variety of it and the stories in general. Comments and suggestions are always welcome. 
> 
> Many thanks to carlyinrome for her work as beta.

 

Dru/Spike, Italy 1959   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They danced for hours through the streets of Sanremo, through the alleys that faced the deep black sea – Spike and Drusilla, escaping once again. After the massacre of a wealthy French family, they had to flee Italy before unleashing the rage of the local hunters. And though the sun was a constant there – on the people’s faces, in the way the houses smelled – and made Spike even more nervous and susceptible to the possible dangers that could befall his beloved sire, an inexplicable fascination tied them both to the place once visited with Angelus and Darla, when their family was intact.   
  
  
“We were happy in Italy. Do you remember, Spike? Happy as doves.”   
  
  
Drusilla’s laughter was mingled with the crashing of the waves, with the colorful crowd of men and women who walked in the downtown streets late at night and ... _oh, can you hear it? Can you feel the excitement? They are celebrating in the theater! They are singing beautiful songs!_   
  
  
The Sanremo Music Festival had started a few years ago and immediately became an international event. It had produced a very famous song that Spike used to sing while driving, jarring and crippling all the words he didn’t understand. Drusilla loved his voice and loved the idea of the blue and the endless flight and that was enough to convince Spike to buy two tickets for the show.   
  
  
They went to the casino on the night of January thirty-first and witnessed the second victory of Domenico Modugno. Spike laughed and clapped his hands, but Drusilla’s eyes were filled with tears once she heard the song.   
  
  
_ “Ciao, ciao, bambina … un bacio ancora … e poi per sempre ti perderò …” _  
  
  
On the way back, Drusilla didn’t want to dance and her eyes were wandering distant and lost. Spike held her into his arms.   
  
  
“What’s wrong, pet? You love music!”   
  
  
“Oh Spike, I do ... yes, I love music. Because it’s always true.”   
  
  
Spike frowned and Drusilla kissed him tenderly.   
  
  
Another kiss, another one not to forget ... The song told her that she would lose him, that she would lose his warmth and the thousand violins played by the wind when they made love, but if she kissed him once more, just once more ...   
  
  
_ “I’ll love you forever,” _ he promised then, almost reading her mind, saying the exact words that would dispel any of her fears.   
  
  
And Drusilla smiled and kissed him and they danced again in streets of Sanremo, among the flowers and the blood of the innocent pedestrians.   
  
  
  
  
  
_ I’d like to find new words, but it’s raining, it’s raining on our love … _  
  



	2. Beautiful Butterflies - Drusilla/shanshued!Angel

Drusilla/shanshued!Angel   
  
_ Beautiful Butterflies _   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The sun was setting on the horizon, beyond the silver moon and intermittent redness of Leda and Danae. Angel was looking at it, his dark eyes full of wonder, reflecting the glow of the light, while relaxing on the rocking chair.   
  
  
It was six o’clock of the afternoon and the blue curtains of the intergalactic shield that protected the Earth were miraculously lowered. No incoming danger on the planet.   
  
  
Angel remembered calling Connor and then Liam and then Faith.   
  
  
“There is no one left to call?” A woman’s voice, thin and soft.   
  
  
Angel didn’t have to force his memory. Nothing could ever make him forget his greatest sin, his masterpiece. He cracked a wry smile, a tired smile, and turned to Drusilla, who was still at the edge of the patio.   
  
  
“There would be Connor and little Darla, but it’s difficult to talk to them. They hardly know me ...”   
  
  
“Oh,” she breathed. “It’s always difficult when it comes to Granny, isn’t it?”   
  
  
Angel rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh.   
  
  
“You can come here,” he said.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
There were tiny boxes full of pills and an oxygen tank just purchased, leftovers from the previous dinner and bottles of the new water approved by the Ministry.   
  
  
Dru peered over them with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. She was still wearing beautiful clothes made of dark silk in spite of the new fashion trends, and her face was the same, pale and cold.   
  
  
“Are you at the end of the road?” she asked, fiddling with the oxygen mask. It was odd looking and reminded her of the dolls.   
  
  
“I’m at the end of the road,” Angel confirmed.   
  
  
“And did you get the prize you wanted so badly?”   
  
  
“Yes, I’ve got it.”   
  
  
It was strange the mercy of a sadistic and insane vampire. Like the snow on Christmas Eve in California.   
  
  
Drusilla’s kisses were different, more delicate and chaste. The vampire seemed to realize that she was with a different man.   
  
  
“You’ve changed; they have transformed you. Just like me.” She pressed her fingers on his pulse. “Beautiful butterflies!” She laughed.   
  
  
Angel frowned – _I’m not like you at all!_ – but he bit his lip and offered his neck. When Drusilla’s canines sank into his flesh, he let out a distressed groan.   
  
  
“Not here,” he said. “Not inside, please.”   
  
  
“Can’t you see the stars?”   
  
  
“No. No, I can’t ...”   
  
  
Drusilla pouted, puzzled.   
  
  
“Out on the porch swing, then.”   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Leda and Danae were shining like fire and behind them there was the moon and the stars.   
  
  
In the arms of Drusilla, death giver, Angel gazed at them, his eyes filled with wonder.   
  



	3. Meditations on Perfect Happiness - Willow/Kennedy

 

Willow/Kennedy break-up

 

 

 

Lately Willow was thinking about Angel.   
  
  
He came into her mind as she adjusted the incense for the prayers or when she reclined her head on the pillow and closed her eyes waiting to sleep. In the most quiet and intimate moments.   
  
  
Her thoughts were not properly directed to the vampire himself, but rather to the concept of happiness – so elusive and nebulous and yet clear in such a peculiar way – that Willow associated with him since the day she had performed her first real spell, giving back to him a human consciousness.   
  
  
Since then, Willow had meditated from time to time on the existence of a perfect happiness, a limit that would make the joy transcendent, a divine contact beyond reason. She found herself playing with the flow of her reasoning. She, who used to be so pragmatic and ordinary, a seventeen-year-old who still wore long colorful socks bought by her mother and spent hours working on complex science projects.   
  
  
Willow who knew the danger of illusions and the importance of critical thinking, but lay awake until dawn reading about lost spells and forgotten dreams. Willow full of contradictions, who never thought of happiness for herself.   
  
  
And then came Oz and his aching tenderness and his musician fingers on her neck as he kissed her next to the lockers. Then came Oz.   
  
  
And then came Tara, unattainable perfection, true magic and welcoming ground.   
  
  
Willow had also been made of earth, but her cracks had become more sharp for the pain and nothing grew anymore inside her. As a living Hellmouth, black Willow dragged everything into oblivion.   
  
  
Kennedy was healing balm and a punch in the ribs. The call to life she desperately needed without knowing and Willow loved her in a red and scary way. With a fairytale kiss Kennedy awakened her and, finally full of strength, Willow could accomplish her greatest spell.   
  
  
Yet a doubt invaded her mind, a ubiquitous worm like the thought of Angel and perfect and unattainable happiness _(Tara, Oz, never again? Ever again? Once again?)_ and Willow thought about love and joy and ...   
  
  
_ “I think we need to talk _ ,” Kennedy announced, after a dinner with the other slayers. Her face was serious and in her eyes there was the determination of those who had already chosen to leave.   
  
  
Willow almost sighed with relief.


	4. After the Fall - Buffy/Angel/Spike

Buffy, Spike, Angel  
  
_ After the Fall _   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He’s waiting for her at the end of a dimly lit corridor on the top floor of the hospital. The usual arrogant expression painted on his face, a consumed grin to wear like a mask.  
  
  
In spite of any prohibition, Spike is pressing a cigarette between his lips but he doesn’t seem intending to light it up. He has a reddened scar on his left cheek and his eyes reveal the fatigue that his proud attitude is trying to hide.  
  
  
Buffy stops her run.  
  
__   
“Breaking news: not dead!” he announces, spreading his arms and trying a little guilty smile.  
  
  
“I see,” she replies, unreadable like a sphinx.  
  
  
She surpasses him without a word.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Angel’s lying on a bed away from any medical machine, but comfortable and clean. Buffy can smell the lavender soap of the sheets, along with the stench of burning flesh. Angel has a charred arm and part of his face is horribly disfigured. He feels her coming, though, and turns slowly. He opens his right eye, the unharmed one.  
  
  
“Buffy ...”  
  
  
“You shouldn’t have,” she says, fighting the urge to cry. Despite the years and distance, Angel’s suffering strikes her heart like a part of her is bleeding.  
  
  
“You shouldn’t have,” she repeats, more firmly. “Los Angeles is a huge city. You have unleashed an apocalypse that harmed thousands of innocent people! I had to tear out of the rubble-- _even my girls!_ How could you do such thing? How could you not think about the consequences?”  
  
  
Angel swallows and takes a pointless breath. Buffy feels her anger grow even more.  
  
  
“I don’t know what happened to you, but I can’t tolerate this! My job is to protect this world, Angel, not to destroy it! Not even for you.”  
  
  
“I know.”  
  
  
“I’d love to punch you right now, if only you weren’t already a …”  
  
  
“Buffy ...”  
  
  
“Why?” She asks, and sits at the edge of the bed.  
  
  
He takes her hand and kisses it with the same reverence that he used when, back from hell, he relied on her for everything. Closing his eyes, he whispers words of gratitude.  
  
  
Buffy accepts them and forgives him, as always.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
She finds Spike on a bench on the roof. He’s finally smoking his cigarette. He’s looking at the stars and Buffy finds him beautiful.  
  
  
“Epic reunion with your _immortal lover_?” he asks, exhaling a puff of smoke. “I imagine that all the melodrama would fill the heart of the more sensitive nurses … if they still exist.”  
  
  
“How did you manage to get a hospital bed for a vampire who does not need medical care?” she replies, not impressed by his sarcasm.  
  
  
“I asked gently.”  
  
  
“You threatened the doctors?”  
  
  
“Threatened is a harsh word. I would say that …”  
  
  
“A surgeon told me that you literally pressed him against the ceiling,” Buffy says, approaching him. “The more sensitive nurses, to use your slightly sexist expression, found _your_ gesture very romantic.”  
  
  
Spike looks at her, raises his scarred eyebrow and tosses out the cigarette.  
  
  
“Oh ... _oh_.”  
  
  
Buffy sits beside him.  
  
  
“When did you come back?” she asks very seriously.  
  
  
“A few weeks after Sunnydale ... after ... you know.”  
  
  
“Why didn’t you call?”  
  
  
The Slayer’s voice is vulnerable and even the vampire lowers his defenses. He stares at her with deep regret, then bows his head.  
  
  
“I didn’t want to cause you more troubles. I didn’t want to spoil my big exit as a hero and all …” He squeezes his eyes. “I was afraid it was really a lie. What you told me when ...”  
  
  
“It wasn’t,” she whispers, raising his chin. Her eyes are full of tears and Spike swallows his own. “I thought you were dead.”  
  
  
“I’m so sorry.”  
  
  
They separate quickly, unable to bear the intensity of the contact.  
  
  
Buffy starts talking again.  
  
  
“So … your romantic gesture for Angel. Is that true?”  
  
  
Spike nods halfheartedly.  
  
  
Buffy exhales a breath.  
  
  
“And you love him?” she insists.  
  
  
Another reluctant nod.  
  
  
“And he ... does he love you?”  
  
  
Spike chuckles bitterly. “You know it doesn’t work that way. Not for me, at least. I try, but ...”  
  
  
“Spike ...” she interrupts again and this time holds him without shame. He reciprocates the embrace with the same superhuman strength and they begin to cry both in pain and relief. “I’m so glad to see you.”  
  
  
“Me too, love. Me too.”


	5. Roma, Amor - Natasha MCU

  
Natasha (& Clint)   
Prompt: _ Out the back door goddamn but I love her anyway _   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The hissing sound of the explosion prompted her to turn around, but Natasha didn’t have time to complete the movement. A pressure against her left shoulder made her fall backwards and the agent fought to keep her balance, concentrating all her energy on the muscles of her thighs, on the soles of her feet flat on the ground.   
  
  
The pain reached her a few seconds later, blinding and terrible like thousand needles stuck in her veins, a Greek fire in her blood that did nothing but burn. There was shouting from a distance – _a voice, her voice_ – and, before falling to the ground, she saw Clint’s eyes and his face all dirty for the smoke.   
  
  
Then darkness.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When she awoke, the sun was shining reddish over the arcs of the Colosseum, on the slopes of the hills that surrounded the capital.   
  
  
Natasha got up from the bed and walked towards windows of the flying jet. The sunset was greeting Rome once again.   
  
  
“Sooner or later we’re gonna see those Vatican museums,” Clint said, pressing the commands to increase the speed. “Welcome back to the world, Nat.”   
  
  
“Thanks,” she said, putting a hand against her left shoulder, insensitive for the painkillers. “Sooner or later …”   
  
  
She sat by Clint’s side.   
  
  
“I could make us crash with all the morphine that I was given,” she warned, a hint of a wry smile on her face.   
  
  
Clint nodded, amused.   
  
  
“I’m well aware that the outcome of our return journey is entirely up to me ... _now_. However you did a really great job, Nat. Without you it would have ended badly. You saved the city once again.”   
  
  
Natasha nodded, bowing her head.   
  
  
She saved Rome so many times, but had never saw one of her most prestigious museums. Never ate in a restaurant on the back streets of downtown.   
  
  
She saved Rome so many times, but never knew her completely and missed much of her beauty. So little had been lived and experienced.   
  
  
“Hey ...” Clint murmured, sensing her sadness. “What?”   
  
  
“Nothing. I was just wondering if we’ll ever see Rome. Really, I mean.”   
  
  
“We will.”   
  
  
Natasha felt like smiling, softened by Clint’s so confident reply. She felt like smiling because it was comforting the idea that a certainty so unshakable could even exist for someone like them.   
  
  
Then she studied her pale hands, her body broken.   
  
  
“You know that Rome is a survivor, right?” Clint asked. “She handled some pretty fucked up stuff. Civil wars, invasions, hordes of armies ready to mess around. The popes, the emperors, the epidemics and some crazy politician ... Always beautiful even in disgrace. Always whole even when broken. It reminds me a little of you.”   
  
  
And Natasha smiled, really, fighting the knot of emotion on her throat. She looked at the horizon, towards the white clouds.   
  
  
_ “Out the back door, again.” _   
  
  
_ “Out the back door,” _ Clint replied. “ _Goddamn but I love her anyway_ _ .” _


	6. Girls Never Stop Playing Dressing Up - Illyria/Lady!Loki

 

 

  
  
  
  
She was walking through the corridors of the university, some papers in her arms and the swish of a light colored, floral skirt around her legs. Every so often a student turned to greet her, _“Good evening, Dr. Burkle!”_ and she smiled amiably, as she had learned, twisting her lips into an embarrassed grin and adjusting her glasses. Even the heels weren’t a problem anymore.   
  
  
_ “Interesting dress.” _  
  
  
Illyria stopped instantly, her neck tensed searching for the vibrations, the space in front of her. She held the files and moved a few steps back to the entrance of the empty classroom from where she had heard the voice. She tilted her face and leaned to observe the hidden energy that came from the body of the woman sitting in the chair.   
  
  
“You’re not human,” Illyria said, opening her cold eyes. The host smiled, bringing her hands to her lips in a gesture that Fred classified as: _shyness, malice, shame, joking, playing, she wants to play_. “You’re not _female_.”   
  
  
The guest got up from the chair. She was wearing a black suit that glorified the generosity of curves, betrayed by the stiffness of her jaw, by the neat corners of the cheekbones and the thin lips that revealed sharp, clean teeth.   
  
  
Fred’s neural circuits conjured the images of felines ready for the hunt and Illyria closed the door behind her, intrigued.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“I marched among the steaming branches of _Yggdrasil_ , when the parents of your parents were rotting in the desert that you have called world,” Illyria said. “I know your laws far better than you can imagine and I know how to kill an Asgardian.”   
  
  
“Of course you do, of course ...” Loki said, advancing with the calm elegance of the snakes. “You are Illyria and you have dominated the universes when the Asgardians were smashing walnuts with their foreheads. But I’ve got news for you: not an Asgardian ...”   
  
  
The god-king in a floral skirt dropped the papers she was carrying and her skin gained a little bit of its natural icy look. Loki saw it as a good sign.   
  
  
“I’m not even a Jotun ... not really,” Loki said.   
  
  
“You’re Loki, mother of the wolf and bearer of doom.”   
  
  
“And I’m younger than you,” she pointed out, stroking the long hair of the body Illyria had chosen to wear. It was soft and smelled of lily of the valley.   
  
  
“Why are you here?” the god-king asked.   
  
  
He was direct and lacked of irony. Loki liked it.   
  
  
“Why shouldn’t I be?” Loki said. “It's a university. That's where you find knowledge in this world.  Knowledge is power; I love power. Why are you wearing a little girl?”   
  
  
“Fred Burkle is a genius and this body pleases me. Why did you call me?”   
  
  
“I heard that studying with a friend produces more satisfactory results. Are they really creating a Tesseract in the laboratories of this hole?”   
  
  
Illyria’s eyes were huge and a scorpion-like blue.   
  
  
Loki recalled the gems hidden in the nightstand of Frigga and Odin, when she was a little boy. The long forgotten home.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Men love long and soft hair.”   
  
  
“They are reassured by the sweetness of young faces, by the childlike charm of eyes too big. They derive a sense of power by the certainty of being older, able to punish and destroy,” Loki explained.   
  
  
They were sitting on the lawn of the campus, the god-king and the trickster, wearing their prettiest _clothes_. They were talking under everyone’s eyes, students and scientists alike, too busy to notice the deception staged in broad daylight.   
  
  
“Do you think they will realize it before the end of the project?” Loki asked, turning to look her ally.   
  
  
“If they do, we will crush them.”   
  
  
“Oh. It will be sweet to greet Thor one last time, before distorting his timeline forever ... do you think he would like the _new look?”_   
  
  
  
  



End file.
